


Sandpaper and Silk

by TelepathJeneral



Series: Hope in All Its Forms [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Jyn escapes Scarif, is there a ship name yet, slightly alternate universe but nothing major
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 06:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14254959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelepathJeneral/pseuds/TelepathJeneral
Summary: When one sets out to rebel, they do not always consider the losses to be incurred along the way. At the same time, there are gains to be had, however small and soft they might be in comparison.





	Sandpaper and Silk

Jyn cannot feel herself any longer.

She knows she inhabits a physical body—she has been aware of this since being plunged into darkness, forced to use her fingers and feet to find her way. One learns the dimensions of their body quite quickly, when you can’t see the edges. She has felt the heat of reactor engines, the blast of kickback, the frigid chill of prisons and the icy touch of death.

And she feels nothing any longer.

Watching her father die had been easier than she’d expected. His smile, his voice, so kind to his last breath, were heart-wrenching, but she’d simply watched. Saw had taught her: we do not mourn those we cannot help. We move forward. We keep running.

She’d tried to run, with Cassian and Bodhi, and run they had. Turns out the Rebellion was good at running. They’d gotten her to Scarif, battled to the death again. More people had died.

 _For her_.

They’d gotten the plans. The Imperials had fled. The Rebels had fled. Like pendulums swinging in opposite directions, unsure of why they keep returning to each other so often.

 _Stardust_.

The word itself is hollow. Galen Erso had named the project after her, his little nod to his absent angel, and the thought is touching. He had thought of her, even while he laid his trap. But Jyn does not think about Galen.

‘Stardust.’ That had been his word. And he had taken it, given it up to them, thinking he was doing something good, when it simply gave Krennic permission to say those syllables and treasure them too. All of the Imperials—the Emperor. Vader. The moffs, and generals, and admirals, they all _knew_ her name now. They had all said that _word_ , so freely given by Galen, and she can never get it back.

She tries to move an arm, and finds she cannot. There is no reason to.

She wants to scream, but the thought is too intense. It burns itself away, like a dying candle.

She tilts her head back, eyes closed against the steady, insistent light of her room, and focuses on breathing, even as the tears begin to well at the corners of her eyes.

She wants to shout at them. _You mean nothing_. She has cried too much, exhausted herself on her own tears, and they are worthless now. But there is noise from the door, something or someone fumbling their way inside, and Jyn tries to recall the tears as she sits up. Too late—they spill out over the corners, dribbling down her cheeks. She takes a deep breath, and looks up, the overwhelming whiteness of her visitor nearly blinding.

“Jyn.” Soft hands cup her cheeks, smoothing away the tears. This movement, so unlike Cassian, so unlike Galen, and so definitely unlike Saw, prompts Jyn to shiver, trying to pull away even as she tries to decipher the clues before her. She knows this woman, she’s seen the reports and holos—

“Princess.” The word comes out in a croak, and Jyn knows she has to breathe. But her lips are sealed, her nose liquidy from the crying, and she doesn’t know what to do.

“Oh, no, Jyn—” The princess moves, her hands coming to Jyn’s shoulders. “Leia. Always Leia. They said you’d been in here for hours, and given the rush of the past few days—”

“You don’t need to worry about me.” Her voice is hoarse, strained, and Jyn is surprised—it’s not as if she’s been talking to a lot of people lately. “I did my part.”

“Jyn, the Rebellion doesn’t stop just because you completed a mission. You’re a part of us now. You always have been, even before you knew it.” Leia’s voice is soft and gentle, just like her hands, and Jyn wants to push her away.

_You are too soft for this._

“I—”

“There’s places where we’ll be safe. Bases on quiet moons, Outer Rim outposts—it isn’t easy, but it is possible. Once the Death Star is gone, we’ll have the support of the Senate, I’m sure of it. Things will change.”

Jyn tries to nod, but she does not _care_. She does not care about a Senate, and she barely cares about the ‘Death Star’—her Stardust. She does not care about anything outside of this room, and even that is a close contest.

“I’m so sorry.” Leia’s voice has dropped to a whisper, and she bows her head over Jyn as she grips her shoulders. Jyn has nothing to say, and so she remains silent, finally reaching up to grab Leia’s arms just to confirm their reality.

Leia is solid, and real. Her presence is not immediately comforting, but it is grounding somehow, and Jyn allows herself the time to focus.

There are no more words. No more speaking. Jyn is ready to push her away, to send the princess back to her duties, but she pauses when Leia reaches down first. With a careful, almost cautious movement, Leia presses her lips to Jyn’s forehead, smiling faintly before releasing her. In a few quick steps, the princess is gone again.

And for the first time, Jyn can feel the lingering pressure of those lips against her skin.

+++

It has been some time, and Jyn has been passed from handler to handler like a stray dog. At last, she’s ended up on Chandrila, where everyone is too important or too busy to answer any of her questions. She spends most of her time with the droids, working on projects in the hangars and reviewing the specs of the X-wing fighters.

She might see action again. If anything, it would give her a way to go out in glory, rather than malingering here.

When the news reaches them about Alderaan, Jyn begins to understand what is happening. She starts to see the same look on everyone’s faces, the same blank stare she’s had for the last few months. It gives her a small amount of pleasure—a perverse pleasure—to know that they’re finally beginning to realize the enormity of their commitment.

Like Saw had taught her. If you have nothing you love, if you have nothing important, then there is nothing that can be used to hurt you. Jyn will never know the pain of losing a planet, because she has never had a planet that she called her own.

On brief occasions, she notices Mon Mothma, the woman’s eyes drawn and tense but not empty, like so many. Jyn begins to follow her, in hopes of finding out more, and Mothma returns the favor by keeping her informed. Jyn knows she is lucky. But with her information, she arranges to be in the landing bay when the princess’s transport returns, and is one of the first to see her as she steps out of the ship.

Jyn was not aware that her heart could break any further. First her mother, then Saw. Now…

She pays little attention to the worried glances and murmurings of the other rebels. Mon Mothma is taking Leia’s arm, moving forward, and Jyn comes to Leia’s other side.

The princess is a diplomat, through and through. She even manages a brave smile, despite her obvious anguish. But as soon as they turn the corner, as soon as they escape into the hallway, she is clinging to Mon Mothma like a little girl, burying her head in the Chandrilan robes to muffle her sobs.

“Leia— _Leia—”_ Mothma knows how useless it is to offer consolation, but she strokes Leia’s hair, holding her still. “Miss Erso, I…could you—”

“No, she can stay.” Leia is still shaking, her whole body subject to her grief, but she turns to face Jyn. “Mon, I know you’re busy—Jyn can show me to my quarters.”

Mon Mothma hesitates, unsure and unwilling to release Leia, but Leia is strong enough to pull herself away and wipe at her eyes. Mon Mothma slowly nods, releasing a held breath, then cups Leia’s face in both hands to hold her for a moment longer.

“This is not the end of things. Your father has prepared you for this. This will pass.”

Leia nods, watching as Mon Mothma releases her and rushes off down the hallway. Jyn isn’t sure what she’s expected to do—but when Leia grabs her arm, she starts to get a better idea.

“I don’t actually know where your quarters are.” She tries to explain, adjusting to let the princess press herself against Jyn’s side. Leia simply smiles, clinging to Jyn, and shrugs.

“Maybe you can show me yours, then.”

Jyn glances at her, trying to read the mixture of emotions on Leia’s face, and is surprised by the smile there. Yes, Leia is distraught. The woman—barely out of her teens—was destroyed by the loss of her home, and there will always be a void in her chest when she thinks of Alderaan. But that does not change the way she touches Jyn, the way she holds Jyn’s arm, or the way she invests herself in Jyn’s words.

As they begin to walk through the corridors, Leia talks softly, mentioning various memories from her past. Her father’s favorite flower bloomed on spring nights, and he’d taken her to see a whole hillside covered in them one night; her mother played the lyre, and she’d once gotten in trouble for trying to play it and getting dirt on the strings. There were childhood memories, memories from adolescence, confused recollections of early Imperial power, even the occasional story of Coruscant. Leia is not crying as she tells them, but Jyn can feel her shaking.

As they come to the small cell allotted to Jyn (she was surprised when they gave her a room of her own, but Chandrila is not suffering from an overpopulation problem), Jyn releases Leia and watches her wander, finally sitting on the cot to take a breath.

“My father and I—we didn’t always agree about the course of the Rebellion. He believed the Senate would see reason, in the end. He spent his time drafting bills, gathering lobbies, trying to contest the Empire legitimately. But he never stopped me, never—” Leia’s shoulders rise and fall, her breaths shuddering, and Jyn takes a careful step forward.

“You loved him very much.”

“I will never stop loving him.” Leia whispers, raising a hand to wipe at her cheeks again. Jyn kneels before her, looking up at this woman who has seen so much and felt so much and _done_ so much, and she finally begins to feel something in her crumbling.

“You _love_ so much.”

“I only love that way because they taught me how. It doesn’t mean I’m better at it.”

“No. No, you are.” Jyn grasps Leia’s hands, holding them in her own. “I’m sorry, Leia, I’m _sorry_ —”

“Jyn, I have heard enough apologies to last me a lifetime.” Leia’s voice is weary, and Jyn feels tears pricking her eyes again. But it’s not as if _she_ just lost her family. Why is she the one crying now?

“You don’t deserve this. The one person who doesn’t deserve this, and you—”

“ _Jyn_.” Leia reaches down, grasping Jyn’s shoulders to pull her upwards. Jyn follows easily, sitting beside her on the cot, and as Leia collapses against her, Jyn begins to realize that Leia no longer wants words.

Well, if anything, this is something Jyn can handle. It is easier to simply hold Leia, to wrap her arms around the other woman and hide her from the world, than it is to try and offer condolences. Jyn knows how useless they would sound, anyway.

Jyn thinks of what Mon Mothma had said. “This is not the end of things.” Jyn knows this is simply what people say, when it feels like the galaxy is ending, but Mon Mothma is not the type to offer paltry sayings. Jyn may not have _enjoyed_ existing after the Battle of Scarif, but she’s made it this far, and her time has given her Leia. Leia will need time, of course, but there is more to come. There must be.

“I will love you.” Jyn promises, whispering the words against Leia’s hair. They are more for her benefit, not for Leia’s, but the words themselves are binding. Saw rejected the notion of love, and Jyn had refused to love her father the way he had loved her. But Leia is different. Leia is an idealist, but she is not the harsh, bitter idealist that Saw was. She is still soft, and kind, and gentle, and Jyn will protect that for as long as she is able.

She may not be very good at love, but Leia is the ideal person to teach her.

++


End file.
